


For the Love of a Zip

by Always_Anon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Anon/pseuds/Always_Anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt: <i>Sherlock likes to retire to the hospital morgue, zip himself up inside a body bag and lie motionless for hours. It's peaceful...it's anything but peaceful when John finds him.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Love of a Zip

**Author's Note:**

> Written during series one. All terminology and supplies used are real.

 The smell of 5% acetic acid confirms Sherlock's suspicion that the room is empty. Harrison has gone for his meal break. 

 While Harrison (Molly had told Sherlock that Harrison was the only other employee he could trust with his request) simply rubbed his chin at Sherlocks declaration of his intentions, and never intrudes, it eases his mind to know that the man is not present.

 Harrison made a simple stipulation upon learning of Sherlock’s motives: “Use the Mopec heavy duty bag. That one. With the handles. It's only used when we're stacked.” 

 Sherlock always takes the eight body walk-in refrigerator unit in the back corner. It allows him to enter and leave almost unnoticed.

 It's not often that Sherlock uses this method to quite his mind. Usually, a three-patch application will suffice. However, the streets have been crowded with insufferable tourists and flat is filled with their noise and smell. 

 Sadly, the refrigeration unit is not in working order. But, the buzz of fluorescent lights and the throat like hum of the bank of filled units is enough. Locking the wheels of the cadaver carrier, Sherlock places the heavy, blue, bag upon its surface.

 Hearing the biting tear of the zip moving to the base of the bag brings a strange warmth to Sherlock. Climbing into the bag and raising the zip to the top of his head, closing off all light, only increases the warmth that he feels. It is as if he has stepped into a hot, natural, spring.

 “She said he comes here whenever it’s a homeless person.” Donovan’s voice is strained, she has a night planned. Finding Sherlock Holmes is not on her list.

 “Well obviously he’s not here.” Lestrade rubs the back of his neck. He is tired, frustrated and rather annoyed at Sherlock. 

 “You know he never leaves the flat without his mobile.” John is worried.

 “Yes, and he also likes to flit off and ignore people. God knows what he does.” Donovan shivers. Despite her own need to appear strong to herself and others, she finds morgues decidedly creepy. “Who’s covering the place tonight?”

 Lestrade walks up to the green-topped desk that faces the front entry doors. Three mangas and a bag of jelly babies are scattered upon its surface. “Harrison.”

 Donovan pulls a face.

 “Let’s just wait for the man, ask him if he’s seen him.” John’s hand twitches slightly.

 Donovan decides that, nerves be damned, she will wander the floors of the room.

Spying a table with a blue body bag upon it, she leaps upon the indiscretion of leaving a body unattended. Harrison, to her, is worse than the morgue. He has beady little eyes, foul breath, and stares openly at her chest. He licked his lips once while his eyes raked over her body. She never forgot that.

 “Well, well.” Donovan smiles and crosses her arms.

 Lestrade and John wander towards the grinning woman. Both believing that Sherlock is perhaps leaning against the wall soaking in the conversation. Lestrade will give the man a knowing look. John however, decides that he will ignore Sherlock. Perhaps all night.

 The sight of a simple cadaver table with a bag upon it is not what either man is expecting.

 “What are you so smug about?” Lestrade declares, knowing full well what has made the woman before him smile like a cat that has caught a mouse.

 John walks up to the table. He is disgusted that someone would leave a body in the corner of a room. Forgotten. The body was once a living being, and deserves more respect. Leaning over to move the table to a refrigerator, John leaps back as the bag twitches.

 Every semblance of the army doctor, of the stoic strong man that could confront death. Every fiber of a grown man that can stare down death, blood, guts. Every single piece of Doctor Watson flees from John. He turns, grabs a small table lamp and begins to pummel the body bag.

 Donovan shrieks and flings herself upon the desk. 

 Lestrade curses loudly, grabs another lamp, and runs towards John. Both men raise their arms above them. Both men let out husky yells. Both mens minds are, for some unfathomable reason, possessed by images of shuffling zombies.

 The body bag. In defiance of all natural law, twists and lands on the floor. 

 Lestrade drops his lamp, all color fades from his face. He is a fixed point. Donovan begins to hyperventilate, her bladder, mercifully nearly empty, lets loose.

 John, in an instant of bizarre insight stalks over to the blue, upright, and steady bag. He tears down the zip.

 Sherlock stares out impassively, blue bag gathering at his feet. The only thing that betrays the almost senseless beating he received are deep, hitching, breaths.

 “You are the most revolting man. I-I just. _Ewww_.” Donovan shakes her hands as if to dry them. She lowers herself to the floor and stalks towards Sherlock. “What the hell?”

 Lestrade has to hold back a laugh. He also has to swallow very hard to keep bile from rising into his mouth. “Sherlock. That was just...” Lestrade shakes his head. He really needs  something to either settle his stomach or allow it to expel the vomit that is crying for release. The cold sweat that has popped out all over his body makes him shiver slightly. He’s actually glad of this, he can complain of cold. Not fear. Or disgust.

 John just stares. He knows he will never mention it again to Sherlock. However, he now has one more place where he can find the man he has decided to room with.

 “You’re still holding the lamp John.” Sherlock winks.

**Author's Note:**

> My second fan fic.
> 
> I respect and encourage con-crit as I am still learning a great deal about creative writing. I also truly love all comments. Thank you.


End file.
